


Teeth

by dorianpervus



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorianpervus/pseuds/dorianpervus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MacCready and Val camp out in an old Factory for the night. Cuddles are had, questions are asked, tears are almost-shed. All in all, MacCready only knows one thing for sure: he's too tired for this shit. </p><p>Basically just a bunch of fluff with a dash of angst for good measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Do people in the Fallout universe wear braces? Let's go with "no", for the sake of this fic... 
> 
> I like to think MacCready makes up for his lack of audible cursing with a ton of it in his inner monologue. Is this a thing? It is now.

They shack up in some old prewar factory. Which is a relief, considering the past couple hours the pair of them have been clearing said factory of seemingly endless waves of raiders. He's more than surprised when they come out of it only a little worse for wear. Both of them got grazed by a bullet or two, but nothing significant. Val survived their encounter with a few new bruises and a split lip but that's to be expected, especially when she considers the most effective form of combat to be trudging into the field of battle with a sledge hammer and hoping she doesn't get shot.

  
Let it be on the record that he's _tried_ to show her how to properly use a sniper. And every time all she does is take a shot, cringes, and shoves it back into his hands like it just criticized her mother.

  
If she fucking dies, whatever happens, it is not his fault.

  
They settle down inside one of the control rooms, and he watches Val smack the spare mattresses for a good 5 minutes, trying to relieve them of any dust left behind. Ultimately, she gives up when he tells her it's hopeless, but he still catches her lightly brushing at the fabric when she thinks he isn't looking. It leaves him fucking dumbfounded sometimes, how a woman like Val - so used to the simple life - could survive the hell pit of the Commonwealth. Give her a baseball bat and she will beat the shit out of anyone that gets in her way, but hand her a dirty handkerchief and she'll look at you like you're fucking crazy.

  
It's been a little under a year since she walked out of that ice box she was frozen in for 200-something years, and somehow she actually manages to not look like a complete mess. Sure, it hasn't been a full year, but the Commonwealth works fast, and if she were anyone else, it would show. All the shit people go through in this place - they wear it on their faces for everyone to see, whether they like it or not.

  
But not Val.

  
You have to look close if you really want to see all the bullshit she's dealing with.

  
He's not sure if he envies her, or pities her. Yeah, she looks good for someone that's had such a rough start - but it also makes her a target. People think they can get something out of her. And, in her defense, those people usually end up dead in the dirt - but it causes so much unnecessary bullshit. And he would know, considering he's on the receiving end of a lot of those assholes alongside her.

  
MacCready realizes just how deep his train of thought has gotten when he practically shits himself as she rounds the corner, holding a bundle of blankets and smiling that big grin she saves for when she's particularly excited.

  
And he's frightened. Not because her smile - hell no, it's a _good_ fucking smile - but because she only ever looks like that when she's about to bash someone with a sledge hammer or steal something. As far as he can tell, she doesn't look ready to do either of those things, though. She's not even looking at him, just peering down at the blankets and shaking her head in something like disbelief.

  
"They have goddamn blankets here, MacCready." She says, breathlessly, likes she's lost her voice over this apparently spectacular discovery.

  
He doesn't really give a shit why her voice sounds like that, though - only that it _does_ , and it's doing things to him.

  
MacCready clears his throat. "Yeah, I can see that."

  
"How long has it been since we used actual blankets?" Val asks, and she looks at him like she's actually expecting an answer.

  
"I dunno. How long ago were we last at Sanctuary?" A chill rattles his spine, and suddenly the prospect of a warm blanket isn't so mundane anymore. He seats himself down on his mattress and says, "While you're at it, mind handing one of those here?"

  
"Yeah, yeah." She says, throwing one over to him. The thing is a cruddy, dusty, heavy piece of fabric. It looks like it might have been white at one point in its lifetime, but it's turned a more brownish hue over time, and MacCready tries not to think about it too much.

  
When he looks back up, Val has wrapped the blanket around herself so high it brushes the underside of her nose. She's swaying back and forth a little, and she looks like a kid who just opened their birthday present or something, standing there, grasping at the blanket with such intensity. Her hair sort of... puffs out at the crown her head because of the blanket, and - it's pretty damn adorable.

  
The woman is almost a decade older than him and she still manages to make him think shit like this. Christ.

  
Their mattresses are pushed together in the closed space, and Val sets her pack down at one end to use as a pillow. It's achingly obvious to him how close they are; if he rolls over in his sleep or gets a little restless, he's not going to be surprised if he accidentally elbows her face. Mortified, but not surprised. There are advantages to be this close to her though, like the fact he can actually make out the faded scar over eyebrow - a sort of token of the life she lead before the Commonwealth. There's no way such a delicate blemish was caused out here in the wastes.

  
She has the faintest show of wrinkles around her eyes, between her brows, laugh lines around her lips (they're so close to his own, all he'd have to do is lean in a few inches...). Up until this point he figured her eyes were entirely black, but now he realizes they are a deep, dark brown, and they turn a sort of amber color in the glow of the lamplight they've set at the end of their makeshift bed. And, shit, she's still easy to look at - even up close. That's not a common thing.

  
When she lies back, rests her head against her backpack, he realizes he's been staring at her like an asshole for a larger stretch of time than he'd like to admit, and decides to lie back as well - if only to tear his gaze from the way her hair feathers out around her head.

  
Val sighs, almost cheerfully, and says, "Now this is the life."

  
The dryness in her voice is not lost to him, and he chuckles, "All we need is a couple Salisbury steaks and some Nuka Cola. It's practically a tropical vacation."

  
"Glad you're enjoying yourself."

  
Suddenly, she's shuffling underneath the blanket, face contorting in irritation as she slips a hand beneath her back.

  
"There's something jutting into my ass." She sneers, then apparently finds the offending object since she pauses. When she pulls it out from beneath the blanket, MacCready feels a familiar heat rise to his cheeks - and fuck, he's actually _blushing_.

  
It's the small wooden soldier he gave her a month or so back. She turns it over in her palm, chuckles lightly and says, "Can't remember the last time a guy messed around back there. Miniaturized or otherwise."

  
Shit, shit, shit. MacCready tries to swallow back the choked gasp that rises in his throat at the image that conjures. Partly because that's his boss - he's a hired gun, and definitely should _not_ be thinking about shit like that, even if there are some feelings between them. Mostly, though, because with his gasp comes a unexpected rush of heat that reverberates down his spine and settles southward - and goddamn, that is the last thing he needs right now.

  
He tries to laugh it off, covers his face with his hands in a show of exasperation. Honestly though, he's just hoping she hasn't noticed how red his face has gotten. "Thanks, boss. 'Cause that's the kind of shi- the kind of image I like to have right before I go to sleep."

  
"I don't doubt it, MacCready." She laughs, freely this time, and he peeks through the cracks of his fingers just to catch a glimpse of her smile. Bright, gleaming, with perfectly straight teeth and a slight endearing crook to the form of her lips. Nothing like his. There's a good handful of his own teeth missing - too many unfortunate encounters with some less than friendly people for his to stay intact. Even if they did, they're stained, crooked, ugly things - they don't shine and make people's stomach's flip when he smiles. They don't make people feel the things he feels when he sees her smile.

  
"How do you keep your teeth like that?" he blurts, somewhat drowsily as sleep starts to tug at him.

  
Val pauses, looks at him out of the corner of her eye like he just asked her what her spirit animal is or something equally fucking stupid, and snorts. "Like what?"

  
He shrugs, looks away from her and lowers the visor of his hat to cover his eyes, tries to shake off the question because _what kind of fucking idiot..._ "Nothing."

  
He feels the light slap of her hand against his shoulder and she says, "No, no, tell me."

  
"Just forget it." He waves her off, then crosses his arms over his chest and pretends to try and fall asleep. He can't see her, but he can hear the sound of her head thudding against her backpack in exasperation.

  
More shuffling, and then, "MacCready."

  
He shivers when he feels the ghost of her breath against his ear. "Tell me."

  
He doesn't say anything, tries to focus on leveling out his breathing, and hopes she gives up and thinks he's fallen asleep. She doesn't fucking move though, and he knows because he can still feel her breath tickle his cheeks and it's making it _so goddamn hard to lower his heart rate_. Val moves closer, and her hair brushes against his jaw. He's painfully aware of her heat against his side, the way her thigh readjusts against his, and all he wants to do is run a hand along it.

  
And then she presses the side of her face against his, whispers into his ear, and - _oh fuck_. "Tell me."

  
He suddenly pushes the cap up from his head, the movement mechanical and unnatural, and snaps his head toward her. "Fu- Fine, Fine."

  
She's laughing again, low and throaty, obviously pleased at herself. He likes to imagine he's shooting her a death glare right now, and that the moment she actually refocuses on him she will shit herself, but he figures his expression is more along the lines of an indignant pout than anything else.

  
Val's laughter settles, her shoulders still shaking lightly underneath the blanket still wrapped around her. "What did you ask? Something about my... teeth?"

  
"I keep forgetting you used to live in a freezer." MacCready says, "They're just... good teeth, I guess. I don't know, it was fuc- it was stupid of me to ask."

  
"I had braces when I was a kid." She answers, and he's surprised when her voice lacks any sort of humor - at least, directed towards him. "Fucking hated them. Have to admit, though, they were worth it."

  
"You had what?"

  
"Braces." She says simply. Then, after a beat, realization dawns and she raises her brows. "You don't know what braces are?"

  
"I'm not exactly living in the lap of luxury here, boss." He snorts.

  
"They're..." She starts, brushes a hand against her nose as she thinks, then says, "Like metal plates that go on your teeth and... straighten them, so they aren't crooked."

  
"Huh." He huffs, "Sound handy - if, a little threatening. Could certainly use 'em myself."

  
She moves closer to him again, patting his shoulder lightly, "Hey. Don't sell yourself short. Compared to some of the people I've met so far in the Commonwealth, you're practically a work of art."

  
It's barely even a compliment - and he would know, he's met his fair share of Commonwealth natives, and they are none too pretty - but his face still manages to heat considerably. Especially coming from Val, who, despite a few cuts and bruises, still manages to resemble one of those broads from those pre-war magazines the kids in Little Lamplight used to pass around.

  
Val is laying her arm across his ribs, idly thumbing the toy soldier atop his chest and... when the fuck did they become so goddamn _cuddly_? He's not complaining, though, she feels like a fucking furnace and it's a nice comfort considering the cool air in the room. The weight of her body settled at his side is a pleasant sort of feeling, one he hasn't felt it such a long fucking time and his fingers twitch with the urge to pull her closer. Her hair looks so soft, such an intense contrast from everything else in this place, and all he wants to do is bury his face in the crook of her neck and feel how soft the rest of her is.

  
"Besides," her voice pulls him from his reverie, "The crooked teeth work for you. They add to this... ruthless mercenary look you're trying to pull off."

  
"'Trying'?" MacCready says, then huffs a breath of laughter, "I'd say I'm doing a pretty good job of 'trying'."

  
She nods, "Don't get me wrong, I'm sure to people who don't know you, you're quite the intimidating guy."

  
"Okay, so I'm not 7 feet tall and I don't carry a mini gun around with me wherever I go, but I've got a reputation, boss." He says, trying to sound offended, though he doesn't think it really works, "You'd do good to remember that."

  
Val looks at him - a strange, gentle expression flitting across her face before she says, "We tore apart an entire Med-Tek facility looking for a cure for your son."

  
She gestures to the object in her hand, "You gave me a toy soldier as thanks, MacCready. Ruthless mercenaries don't do shit like that."

  
It's not teasing, her voice, more - fond, even. Like it should be a good thing that he's gone this soft on her. And maybe, he thinks, it could be.

  
He doesn't say anything, doesn't think there's anything to say considering the fact that she's right. He's not what he thought he'd end up being while growing up in Little Lamplight, fantasizing about what a life out there - alone on the open road - might be like. He would never have wagered he'd fall in love practically the moment he set out on his own. Duncan was even more of a surprise. And then Val... practically a fucking miracle. He was beginning to think he let the only decent person on the goddamn planet get torn apart by ferals until he met Val.

  
It's a long time before she speaks again. They've been watching her fingers play idly with the toy soldier atop his chest for god knows how long. He yawns before she says, "You think you'll go back and see him?"

  
He doesn't have to ask, he knows who she's talking about as soon as she speaks.

  
MacCready sighs, tries to readjust his hat but it just falls back into the same position as before, "Yeah."

  
He pauses, then, "I just need to get my shi- I mean, I just need to figure some things out first, you know? Duncan doesn't deserve to see his dad show up after all this time, only to watch him leave again. If - _when_ I see him again, it'll be for good."

  
It isn't until he swallows that he notices the tight ball that's formed in his throat, or the way his jaw has tightened.

  
"How old is he?" Her voice is quiet. Not hesitant, just - careful.

  
MacCready waits a long time before answering, trying to gather some semblance of composure so he doesn't end up fucking sobbing as soon as he answers. "He's turning six this year."

  
Val turns onto her side, her cheek resting against his ribcage, and somehow the gentle weight makes the knot in his stomach not seem so painful. "When did you leave?"

  
"Almost..." He counts off the months in his head, and with each growing number his heart drops, "Two years ago, now."

  
He rubs his eyes, feels the familiar press of tears forming behind the backs of them, and sighs long and heavy. His tongue feels like cotton, like it's pushing against the walls of his mouth and he grits his teeth in frustration because - _shit_ , he better not start fucking crying in front of his boss, no matter how he feels about her.

  
The weight of Val's head disappears and soon there are gentle, albeit insistent, hands wrapping around his forearms, motioning for him to lift them from his face.

  
He does, cause he's still managed not to burst into tears, and for some fucking idiotic reason he figures he can handle a couple more questions before he insists they should sleep. She doesn't say anything though, just settles her weight on her arms and looks down at him. The lamplight casts a flickering shade of yellow around the edges of her face, illuminating some of the hidden freckles dusting the tops of her cheekbones. And - _fuck_ \- her face is so close to his, even closer than earlier, and her breath brushes his lips in such a taunting manner. It would be so easy, and he wants to so bad - wants to forget all the shit they just talked about, wants to completely lose himself in her and snatch onto any measure of happiness he can while he still has it.

He doesn't need to debate with himself much longer, though, because she's already kissing him. It pisses him off at first, because she isn't even using her tongue and already he can feel a wave of heat wash over him, pool in his gut, dull some parts and awaken others. He marvels at the fact that even her lips are impossibly warm, and revels in the press of her body atop his - comforting and assuring and _so, so, so soft_. And it's such a gentle press of her lips, there is little to no heat in the way she kisses him but his entire body feels like it's on fire.

  
He realizes he isn't doing anything with his hands, he's just sort of laying there like a fucking blow up doll, and he's just about to dig his fingers into her hair and deepen the kiss when she pulls back. Slowly. _So fucking slowly_ and it's doing the most amazing things to him.

  
"You're a good dad, MacCready." She whispers against his lips. And for a moment, just one single moment - before it's plucked from him unforgivingly - he believes her.

  
He swallows, his breath so pathetically haggard and she barely even kissed him. At least he got one of his hands relatively close to her face, he reasons, and he lets it rub lightly down the length of her arm.

  
"Thanks, boss." He says, and his voice sounds so goddamn gravelly, you'd think he just got done chewing rocks.

  
Her lips quirk, and he notes with quaint satisfaction that her cheeks bear a familiar shade of red now, before she pushes herself off his chest and lies back against her mattress. His body feels cold and empty in the places she no longer lingers, and it's so fucking laughable how badly he wants to grab and pull her back to him. Not even so they can kiss again, just so he can feel her pressed against him because she does wonders at making him feel like he isn't so goddamn alone.

  
MacCready focuses his gaze on the ceiling, trying with an immense amount of effort not to look back at her just to see what she looks like when she sleeps. When he catches his vision veering off toward her direction, he resorts to pulling his hat back over his eyes.

  
It works better. The lamplight is blacked out and he pulls his blanket farther up around his shoulders, bunching it around his chin.

  
He thinks about Duncan one last time before falling asleep. Thinks about what he might say to him, how he could possibly explain to a six year old why his dad basically abandoned him for two years straight. He wonders - idly, too close to sleep to really care - if Val would come with him. If after all this shit with her own son is sorted out, if she would consider it. She would know how to explain it, she's good at talking her way out of things. He thinks Duncan would like her.

  
He certainly does.

  
He falls asleep thinking of Val, and Duncan, and himself, and what the three of them could mean - eventually. And once sleep claims him, he dreams. Dreams of good things - things he wouldn't have dared let his subconscious indulge in a couple months ago. He thinks he could get used to them now, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: dorianpervus.tumblr.com because new followers are my only source of happiness.


End file.
